Give A Cheer For All The Broken
by Scribbler95
Summary: John Watson, ex army soldier. Sherlock Holmes, detective and self proclaimed high-functioning sociopath. Demetria Blake, lonely girl with degrees in Forensics and criminology. Somehow they end up sharing a flat. God obviously has a sense of humour.
1. Chapter 1

She sighed as she faced the house opposite. Perhaps her aunt could put her up for the night, at least until she found more permanent accommodation. She knocked on the door and waited. It swung open to reveal her smiling aunt, she tried to smile in a similar fashion but, given her current mood, it turned out looking more like a cheerful grimace.

"Demi? What are you doing here?"

She sighed.

"Do you think I could stay the night? I haven't got enough to pay for a hotel."

"Actually, I just got a lodger...I'm sure you could use one of the spare rooms though deary, you look exhausted."

The girl smiled tiredly and stepped into the house, following her aunt up the stairs. She looked around at the boxes piled up around her as she sat in the kitchen.

"So who is this lodger of yours then?"

Her aunt paused in her bustling.

"A detective, helped with the case involving your uncle. Remember that?"

"Of course. How could I forget? You know I'm trained in that sort of thing, you should have told me."

"No dear, I wouldn't want to put you in danger like that."

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

"I'll just get that. Drink up before it goes cold."

She smiled and lifted her cup as she heard the words downstairs.

"Ah Sherlock!"

She almost spat out her tea. That name wasn't overly popular in London (or anywhere for that matter). Two men walked in after her aunt and she sat back, resting her heels on the table as she watched them converse.

"Yes this could be nice...very nice indeed."

The man who had spoken had a limp and was watching the taller one with curiosity and not so mild disturbance. He glanced around the room.

"Is that a skull?"

The taller one smiled slightly.

"Yes, friend of mine. Well I say friend..."

"What do you think then Doctor Watson?" Asked her aunt. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms..."

Demi laughed at the expression on the man's face and as one the people in the room turned to stare at her.

"They're not a couple. If they were there would be more eye contact, physical contact etc."

The taller man cocked his head slightly.

"And how would you know that?"

She chuckled.

"I dabbled in psychology during my time at Uni."

"A relative of Mrs Hudson's I presume? Daughter...no. Niece?"

Her aunt smiled and wandered over to sort out the cupboards as she always did. She seemed to be in a permanent state of motion, plumping cushions and tidying mess.

"Oh yes, Demi here just finished at University. Twenty eight and she already has degrees in forensics and criminology under her belt. Feet off the table love."

She shifted her feet back onto the floor. The sandy haired man lowered himself into a chair, wincing in pain, and spoke.

"Two degrees? Impressive."

"Well while it may be very impressive it's left her completely penniless. Slept on a sofa last night, presumably that of a friend, no current lodgings to speak of."

She froze.

"How did you know that?"

He smiled indulgently.

"Well your clothing says quite a lot. Hard wearing, leather jacket and thick boots. Doctor Martin's. Very nice. However you bought them some time ago, presumably on sale considering their age and state which suggests you cannot afford to buy a new pair. Your jeans and shirt carry on them strands of a fabric generally used on sofas and other household chairs, suggesting that you slept on such a chair last night. This is backed up by the state of your hair, you haven't yet brushed it properly and the fact that you keep flexing your neck subtly in an attempt to rid yourself of a crick. Your wallet is sticking out of the inside pocket of your jacket and is very thin, not much money. And finally you are visiting your aunt, which judging by her reaction to your presence is not a common occurrence, seeking lodging."

She shook her head.

"Right on all counts Mr..."

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."

"Mr Holmes. I am currently homeless, though I did just get a job. Local hospital morgue. It doesn't pay amazingly well but we all have to start somewhere. I work with the lab too. Pretty much a Jack of all trades."

The man on the chair spoke again.

"Mrs Hudson, how many rooms are you offering for rent?"

Her aunt frowned slightly as she thought.

"Four if you include the one downstairs, not likely that one will sell with the state that it's in. Why do you ask?"

"Sherlock, are you adverse to a three way rent split?"

The man looked up from where he had opened up a laptop.

"No, the question is more whether Miss Demi is willing to share a flat with two men she has never met before in her life."

She laughed and walked over to him, he towered over her but with her scruffy black hair, piercing blue eyes and worn leather bomber jacket she looked intimidating enough.

"Mr Holmes it's that or sleep in the morgue. I have been called morbid, anti-social, all sorts however I'd rather not sleep in a freezer drawer. When can I move in?"

Her aunt was practically vibrating with happiness.

"Oh soon away sweetie. It'll be so nice to have you nearby again. Will you be taking the other room Doctor?"

He smiled.

"Of course."

"Wonderful. I'll put the kettle on again."

She disappeared through the doors and Demi settled herself into the chair opposite Doctor Watson.

"So, Demi. Interesting name."

"Well it's Demitria. Blake. But please call me Demi."

"Of course. You can call me John."

He looked over to Holmes who stood looking out of the window.

"I looked you up on the internet last night."

"Oh? Find anything interesting."

"Your site, the Science of Deduction. You claim to be able to identify a software designer by his _tie_."

Demi raised an eyebrow at his expression before speaking.

"Well everyone has their own personal signature, it's something you look into when you study criminology. Be it a calling card after a murder or simply how they dress it can be used to select one or a few people from thousands."

She might have imagined the brief smile that appeared on Holmes' face as her aunt bustled back in.

"How about these suicides then Sherlock? Thought it would be right up your street. All three the same."

"Four."

"Pardon?"

"There's been a fourth and something is different."

A man with greying hair ran up the stairs.

"Where?"

"Brixton. Lauriston Gardens." He replied, slightly out of breath.

"Difference?"

"They left a note." He was obviously desperate for them to leave, edging away already.

"Who's on forensics?"

Watson and Demi were watching the exchange like a tennis match.

"Anderson." There was a note of regret there.

"He won't work with me."

"He's not your assistant Holmes." The grey haired man was obviously used to his child-like petulance.

"Maybe I need one."

"Will you come?"

"I'll get a taxi. Right behind you."

The man nodded and left. Holmes proceeded to leap around the sitting room exclaiming about Christmas before running from the room. Demi looked around, the rooms were already cluttered and only one of them had moved in so far. Soon, the detective (for she had also seen his site, using it for research more often than not and knew exactly what he did for a living) bounded back into the room.

"John, your a doctor, an army doctor at that. Any good?"

"Very good." He answered with the smallest of smiles.

"And Demitria, forensics, criminals, you're good with crimes?"

"Oh I'm amazing." She answered, smirking.

"You've both seen bodies, wounds..."

"Enough for a lifetime. No, more than enough." Answered John. Demi nodded.

"Want to see some more?"

Demi grinned up at him.

"Hell yeah."

**Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Fairly soon the oddly matched trio were crammed into a taxi, Demi sitting directly opposite the two men.

"All right you've got questions." Stated Sherlock, glancing to his right.

"Yes, who are you. What do you do?"

"I think you can figure that out."

"Private detective? But the police don't go to amateurs for help..."

"I'm a consulting detective."

"A what?"

"When the police are out of their depth.."

"I.e. always." Added Demi. She had seen the mess they had made of her uncle's case and it was simple. Sherlock nodded, that ghost of a possible smile flickering like a candle flame across his pale, pointed features.

"They come to me for help."

John nodded to himself, having seen the policeman practically begging for assistance not fifteen minutes prior to this conversation.

"I'm assuming you're good then?"

Sherlock proceeded to tell John pretty much everything he had done, everyone he had spoken to and what toothpaste he used.

Well, not exactly. But she was fairly sure he knew.

"That was amazing." Stated John as he finished.

"Really?" Holmes looked slightly confused.

"Of course it was. It was incredible."

"That's not what people usually say. You and Demitria here seem to be anomalies."

She scowled at the use of her full name and he smiled smugly as John spoke again.

"Really? What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

She couldn't help it. She laughed, as did John. Even the apparently ever-stoical Mr Holmes cracked a smile as they drew up to the police tape.

"So John did he get anything wrong at all?"

He helped her out of the taxi and she smiled in thanks.

"Well he was right about the family dynamics. Harry and I don't get on, we never have really. Harry and Clara are separated which he also got right."

"So..."

"Harry is short for Harriet."

Holmes stopped short.

"Sister!" He pulled a face that looked as if he had just swallowed something particularly disgusting. She smiled slightly as they approached the flashing police lights, John all the while questioning why exactly he was there. A curly haired woman glared at Holmes over the tape.

"Hello freak."

Demi decided that she didn't like her. She had been on the receiving end of such a nickname for years, even by those also studying forensics etc. and knew exactly how it felt.

"Were here to see Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"Because we were invited." Said Demi, voice ice-like and stern. "Any complaints can be put into writing and delivered to 221B Baker Street. If you're quite finished we would quite like to pass through now."

"Who the hell are you?" She asked indignantly, visibly bristling.

"Colleagues of mine. Doctor John Watson and Miss Demitria Blake. Watson, Demi, this is Sargent Sally Donovan."

"Since when have you had colleagues?"

"Obviously for longer than you've had manners _Sally._" Replied Demi. Holmes looked extremely amused. He lifted the tape and she and John walked under. Demi noted that Sargent Donovan smelled like a man, her inner voice laughed at this.

"Freak's here. Coming in." She spoke into a radio and they walked to where a man with (in Demi's opinion) a rather dodgy haircut and a white space man style forensics suit was walking towards them.

"Do not contaminate my crime scene Holmes. Am I clear?"

"Crystal clear Anderson. Wife away for long?"

Anderson frowned.

"How...?"

"Your deodorant."

"My deodorant?"

"Yes. Demi what can you tell me about Anderson's deodorant?"

She sniffed, slightly confused before grinning. The man was brilliant.

"It's for men."

"Oh well done, real bright one you've got here Holmes."

"I'm not done. It's for men yes, but Sargent Donovan is also wearing it."

"Now, whatever you're implying..."

"Oh we're not. I'm sure Sally just popped round for a chat and ended up staying the night. Scrubbed your floors too by the state of her knees...Come on you two."

They froze as Sherlock walked past, soon followed by his two companions who were smiling to themselves. Lestrade was waiting just inside.

"Who are they?"

"I said I might need an assistant. I'm testing these two out for usefulness."

"You certainly know how to make a girl feel special Mr Holmes." Said Demi, rolling her eyes as Lestrade watched the two newcomers curiously.

"Was that the impression you got?" Asked John, smiling dryly. "I'm feeling slightly used."

"Yes yes no time for humour now, something exciting has happened! The body?"

"Upstairs. You'll need these..." He held out three of the bio-hazard style suits. Holmes raised an eyebrow and he slowly lowered the suits again.

"Anderson will kill you..."

Holmes ignored him and, grabbing the sleeve of Demi's jacket and calling a quick 'Come on John' he began to walk up the stairs, towing his new flatmate with him.

"Do you mind?"

"No, not really."

She rolled her eyes as he opened a door to reveal the corpse of a woman lying on the floor. The letters 'R-A-C-H-E' had been scratched into the floor boards in what looked to be a very painful manner.

"Oh that's ghastly." Said Demi, nose crinkling.

"Well it is a body." Said John.

"No I mean look at that shade of pink. Eurgh."

Lestrade walked in as Holmes looked around the room.

"You've got two minutes. Her name is Jennifer Wilson, we're scanning credit cards for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Found by some kids."

The two (rather unfortunate – not that they knew it just yet) flatmates of the detective watched as he wiped his fingers under her collar, emptied her pockets, inspected her wedding ring and complained that they were thinking too loudly. Anderson poked his head around the door.

"She's German."

"Really?" Asked Holmes dryly.

"Well Rache is German for revenge. Could be a message."

"Yup. Thanks for that input."

Holmes slammed the door in Anderson's face and turned.

"Demitria?"

She looked up as he tossed her a phone.

"Heavy wind and rain within the last three hours. Go."

She scowled at being treated as such but, having found something to do other than stand around looking like a rookie, didn't complain as she checked the weather.

"Cardiff."

"Good."

"So she's not German?" Asked Lestrade.

"No. John, you're a medical man. What do you think?"

"You can't be serious! I'm breaking the rules letting you in, never mind two rookies!"

Demi drew herself up to her full height.

"I am trained in criminology and forensics. John here is a military veteran trained in medicine. I did apply for a job with Scotland Yard, however my application was turned down because you already had Anderson. Biggest mistake of your life mate."

"I concur. John, if you will." Holmes replied. Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Why am I doing this?"

"Because you need me."

"True. Unfortunately. Five minutes."

He left, shouting for Anderson to keep everyone out for a few minutes. John knelt slowly beside the body.

"What are we doing here?"

"Helping me prove a point."

"A point? We're supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yes but this is more fun."

Demi chuckled to herself as she shook her head. Fantastic. She was sharing a flat with a mad man. Lestrade reappeared. As John examined the body.

"Well...I'd say asphyxiation, choked on her own vomit. Could have been a seizure, or drugs..."

"You know what it is. You've seen the papers. Demitria, which hospital do you work at?"

"St. Bart's. Why...?"

"Lestrade have the body sent to the morgue at St. Bartholomew's hospital for further examination."

"Give me everything you've got, if it's any good I'll see what I can do." Said Lestrade impatiently.

He did. Right down to where she worked ('probably in the media due to the – as Miss Blake put it - 'ghastly' shade of pink') and the size of her suitcase. A suitcase which, it might be added, was not there.

"She was writing Rachel?" Asked Lestrade as Sherlock gestured towards the message. Demi rolled her eyes.

"Oh no, a media woman from Cardiff was writing an angry message in German in an English speaking City. Don't be daft Lestrade, I'm sure that – as high up in the food chain as you are here – you're not stupid. Holmes why are you going on about a suitcase?"

"Her suitcase splattered her right leg as she towed it. Where is it, where did you put it?"

"There was no case." Said Lestrade. Sherlock bolted from the room.

"Has anyone seen a suitcase?" He yelled. "Was there a suitcase anywhere in this house?"

"There was no case Sherlock!"

"Oh come on! They took the pills themselves, chewed them and swallowed them. There are clear signs that even you lot couldn't miss!"

"Right, yeah. Thanks for that."

"It's murder. Oh I love serial killers, always something to look forwards to. Look into her friends and family and find Rachel!"

"Why are you saying that it's murder Holmes?"

"Where is her case did she eat it?"

"Hotel?"

"Nope." Said Demi, the pieces slowly clicking into place. "I know girls like her. She colour co-ordinates her lipstick and her shoes. Look at her hair, there's no way she would have left the hotel with her hair looking like that."

"Meaning...? Come on Demitria you're good, I can tell." Prompted Holmes.

"The killer took the case with them from here!"

"Serial killers are tricky, you have to wait for them to make a mistake!"

Lestrade shouted at him.

"We can't wait! People could die!"

"Look at us. Look at _her_ really closely Lestrade they've already made a mistake!"

"What mistake?" Asked a frustrated looking Anderson.

"PINK!" And with that he disappeared.

The hall was silent for a second before Demi turned to John.

"Aaaand he's off again. Well Johnny-boy at least life won't be boring from now on. Do you think he'll wait for us?"

"He's gone." Said Donovan spitefully.

"Well then John it looks like we're getting a cab. Remember to get that body to St. Bart's please Lestrade."

They wandered out into the street.

"You were good, in there I mean." Said Watson as he shuffled under the police tape.

"Thanks. Not too bad yourself."

"I didn't do anything."

"You identified the C.O.D." She fixed him with those eyes, eyes that made you feel like a germ under a microscope. Eyes that made you listen to her. He nodded lamely.

"Now, where are we?"

**Review!**


	3. Chapter 3

They looked around them, completely lost.

"Well we're in Brixton. The question is, where to catch a taxi..."

"He abandoned you then?"

Demi looked over to the increasingly annoying face of Sargent Donovan.

"I'm sure he has reason. Why don't you like him anyway?"

"Well put it this way: One day we'll be standing around a body and it'll be Sherlock Holmes who put it there."

"What makes you think that?" Asked John, eyebrows furrowing.

"Because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored."

She turned to walk away.

"You're wrong."

Freezing, she turned again.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I studied criminology. I've been inside the mind of a psychopath for several of my papers. Sherlock Holmes is quite possibly slightly insane yes I'll grant you that much, but that's why he sees what you don't. There is method to the madness."

"Who are you? His girlfriend?" She sneered. John frowned, Demi was a nice enough girl from what he'd seen, and very intelligent to boot.

"No, I'm his flatmate. I've been called a freak by narrow minded individuals for most of my life and I'm telling you now _Sargent Donovan _that pigs will fly before I give a damn what you think about me or anybody else. Now if you have the mental capacity to do so, please point us to where we can get a taxi."

Most of the police force had witnessed that little outburst. Demi didn't care, in fact she thought that they needed to hear it. She had met Sherlock Holmes only a matter of hours ago. He was arrogant, pompous, annoyingly big headed and...brilliant. She had diligently read his posts during her time at University. 'The Science Of Deduction' had helped greatly with her understanding of the importance of tiny details in cases and his experiments in the morgue had definitely helped her pass forensics. Her classmates had rolled their eyes and continued to read the black-and-white opinions of the 'official' study guides etc. Said that if she based any of her evidence on 'that weirdo' she would be laughed out of the exam room. But she hadn't. She had gotten two degrees in ten years. Twice as much as her narrow minded classmates. Now it was time to remind the police force that, though they may laugh at him, they owed a lot of their findings to the man they publicly slandered.

"Main road's that way. I hope you're very happy together."

"Oh I'm sure we will be. Come on John, I've had enough of our astounding police force for one night."

They walked off towards where Sargent Donovan had pointed. Demi walked slowly so that John wasn't left in the dust. He smiled grimly.

"Well then, you put her in her place."

She blushed and looked down, the anger subsiding now.

"I probably shouldn't have done that."

"No you probably shouldn't have."

"But she did deserve it."

"Yes she did."

"I'm sorry for losing it John. I do try not to do that. It's just that some people make me so _angry_."

"Well having seen what your reaction is I shall try not to become one of said people. Aha! Human life!"

She chuckled as he gestured grandly towards a road of shops with his cane. Demi's anger issues were something she had struggled to control since childhood and she was ashamed that someone as obviously friendly as John Watson had to watch her having one of her -admittedly rare (ish)- meltdowns. A phone box beside them began to ring. John shook his head.

"Prank calls, oh how I hate them."

"Really?" she asked, smiling, "I find them amusing. Last time I got one we had a lovely little chat."

He shook his head.

"I'm beginning to think that between living with you and Mr. I-love-serial-killers my blog is going to be overflowing."

"You write a blog?"

They continued past a takeaway, eyes peeled for taxis. The phone inside the takeaway rang, stopping just before the man inside picked it up.

"Yes, my psychiatrist says it might help."

The phone box beside them rang. They looked around, frowning. It was almost as if they were being stalked... Demi flounced over (as much as a girl in Doc Martin's and a bomber jacket can _flounce_) and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Miss Blake. Can you see the security camera on the building to your left?"

She glanced upwards. Surely enough a camera turned to face her. She stared into the cold glass circle and shivered.

"Who are you?"

The voice ignored her.

"And the one to your right? On the takeaway?"

She saw that one turn to face them as well. John saw the look on her face and looked upwards, also seeing the camera.

"Very clever, but I have a phone. You could have just called that. Your method is good too though, as I said: very clever. Now how are you doing this?"

"And finally, the one across the street?"

She sighed heavily and looked up to see another metallic eye glaring down at her.

"There is a car coming. You and your friend should probably get into it. Goodbye Miss Blake."

The voice had been commanding. Smooth, overly-posh accent laced with power. Whoever they were was important and they knew it. A black car drew up and the door opened. Demi stepped towards it.

"Demi! What are you doing!" John grabbed her arm.

"Just get into the car John. Whoever wants us to is clever enough to follow us with public phones and security cameras. No doubt should we resist they will just continue."

He frowned but climbed in after her, sitting beside a beautiful brunette and Demi sat opposite her, fixing her with an even stare. John looked as if someone was about to shoot him.

"Who are you?" He asked, facing the brunette. She paused in her relentless texting to smile at him sarcastically.

"You can call me...Anthea."

"That's not your real name is it?"

"Of course not." She resumed texting. They drove for a while in silence before pulling into an empty building of some sort. The door was opened and they climbed out, coming up face-to-face with a man in a suit.

"Ah, Miss Blake, Doctor Watson. So glad you could join me."

They both looked at him with matching expressions of 'like we had a choice' and he chuckled before continuing.

"You don't look very scared."

"You don't look very scary." Replied John boldly. The man smiled.

"Ah bravery, so similar to stupidity."

"Get to the point." Demi sighed. The man looked her in the eye.

"I hear you recently became acquaintances with Sherlock Holmes?"

They shared a glance.

"What's it to you? Who are you anyway?"

"Oh he would call me his enemy. His arch-enemy on a particularly bad day."

"People don't have _arch-enemies_." Stated John.

"Well Sherlock isn't exactly people is he? Now, if I were to offer you a notable sum of money in order to feed me information on his comings and goings – nothing intrusive mind – what would you say?"

"No." Said John. The man looked over to Demi.

"I'd tell you to take your 'notable sum' and shove it where the sun doesn't shine. I'm not a spy." She heard a quiet laugh from beside her.

"So loyal so fast. You know John, your psychiatrist says you have trust issues. Then again she also thinks you're suffering from post-traumatic stress. Fire her John, she's wrong."

Their phones buzzed and she looked down at the screen.

_If convenient return to Baker Street – SH_

She was midway through wondering how on Earth he had found her number when John replied.

"How can you tell that?"

"She puts it down to an intermittent shaking of your left hand caused by stress. However you're under stress now and it's perfectly still. You aren't haunted by the war Doctor. You miss it."

A new text.

_If inconvenient, come anyway – SH_

"Could it be, my good doctor, that you have decided to put your trust in Sherlock Holmes of all people? And you, my dear..." He flicked through the paper he was holding. "A woman of your age and intelligence moving in with two complete strangers? One of whom is an injured ex-soldier and the other publicly hailed a madman?"

She kept her face carefully blank, not betraying the tinge of fear she was feeling. This man knew too much too soon for her liking.

"So I have odd taste in flat mates. Shoot me."

"Well you met him earlier today, moved in almost straight away and now you're solving crimes together. Should we all be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

She glared at that. Their phones buzzed again and they sighed heavily.

_Could be dangerous – SH_

"It's time to pick a side. Make sure you choose the right one. Goodbye."

They turned to leave and 'Anthea' met them at the car.

"Baker Street please. 221B. Actually can we stop somewhere else first?" Said John.

"Of course." Replied the woman, still texting and smiling that sarcastic smile of hers.

The man in the suit looked after them, eyes zeroing in on the young woman climbing into the car. Why had Sherlock agreed that she could move in? He claimed that women were a distraction and this girl was certainly highly distracting, even to him. She was attractive and obviously very intelligent. She looked over at him as they began to drive away. His eyes were oddly familiar...and the way he held himself... The man knew that she would figure it out eventually. Until then, and perhaps even afterwards, he would watch them. That is, after all, what he's good at.

And he knew that they would be watching right back.

After all, they lived with Sherlock Holmes.

**Ta dah!**


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock Holmes lay on the sofa when they arrived back, arm sticking right up into the air.

"What are you doing?" Asked Demi, smiling slightly at the absurdity of the image before her.

"Nicotine patches, help me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Terrible news for brain work."

"Good news for breathing." Countered John, hobbling over to stand in front of him.

"Psh, breathing. Breathing is boring."

"Well I can't agree on that one, I am rather attached to it myself." Demi spoke, standing beside John and looking down at the detective. He lay with his eyes closed on the sofa.

"Oi!" She prodded him and he started, grabbing her wrist.

"What on Earth did you do that for?"

"You called, we assumed it was important."

He then asked them the question that they had driven across London to hear. He wanted to borrow a phone.

"A phone? We were on the other side of London and you dragged us back here to use a bloody PHONE? My aunt has a phone."

"I know, I called but she didn't hear me."

She sighed as John passed him his phone.

"Demi, there's a number on my desk. I want you to send a text."

John looked anxiously out of the window as Demi frowned again. Why was she letting this man boss her around like this? Anyone at Uni who tried to do it would probably have a broken nose by this point. But she already knew the answer.

He understood her. He understood that she had been craving adventure in her life, he knew that she had been denied the opportunity, squashed under the thumb of her 'perfect' family.

He probably knew all of it because of what colour her shoelaces were or something like that.

Even worse, he knew that she would listen to him regardless of how rude he was being. So she skulked over to the overflowing table to which he had gestured and picked up the number therein. John spoke.

"We just met a friend of yours."

"A friend?" Sherlock looked incredibly confused.

"An enemy." The confusion cleared up instantly.

"Oh...Which one?"

They looked up at that.

"Your arch enemy apparently."

"Ah, did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yup." Replied Demi, walking over with the number.

"Did either of you take it?"

"No. I don't like being manipulated. Bribery is a form of manipulation."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

She raised an eyebrow. The man was so...infuriating. He looked over at her expression and raised an eyebrow in a similar fashion.

"Who is he?" Asked John.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not our problem right now. Demi, the number, do you have it?"

"Yes."

"Type it in."

"Yes Sahib."

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes Sherlock."

"Have you done it?"

"Hold your sodding horses. Right I've done it. Now what?"

"These words exactly: What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have Blacked out.22 Northumberland Street, please come."

"You blacked out?" Asked John.

"Yes..No! Have you typed it in?"

"Yes. Why am I texting the dead woman anyway? And is that what I think it is?" She jutted her thumb towards a pink shape to her left.

"Yes, just send it."

She rolled her eyes and sent the text as Sherlock picked up the pink case and opened it atop a chair. John started.

"That's what Demi was on about! But that's – that's the pink lady's case!"

"Yes obviously."

They all stood there for a second before Sherlock sighed at John's expression.

"Oh perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her."

Demi laughed at the exasperation in his voice.

"We never said you did."

"Why not? The text, the case, it's perfectly logical."

"You wouldn't have told the police about the missing case had you been the murderer. Do people usually assume you're the killer?" Said Demi, looking down at the case contents. He shrugged.

"Now and then yes."

"Okay..." Said John, watching as the eccentric detective leapt into a crouch on his chair. "How did you find it?"

"By looking. The killer obviously didn't realise he had the case until he had driven off, they wouldn't have walked with that, too obvious especially if they were a man which is statistically more likely. The only way the killer could have taken the case by accident is if he was in a car. How long do you think it would take someone to notice that they were carrying that around?"

Demi shrugged.

"Well it's pretty garish. Not long."

"Exactly. So I checked all of the back streets etc. within five minutes of Lauriston Gardens. It took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"And you got all of this from knowing it would be pink? How did you know that anyway?" Asked John. Demi sighed.

"She was wearing pink, her nails were pink, her lip stick was pink. It was only logical to assume the case would also be pink."

"Of course...why didn't I realise that?"

"Because you're an idiot." Replied Sherlock before looking up at his face and backtracking slightly. "Oh don't take it personally, most people are. What's missing from the case?"

They stared blankly.

"I do hope you didn't search through the poor girl's knickers Mr Holmes." Stated Demi. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Demitria honestly, as if the undergarments of a woman I have never met would interest me in the slightest. Her _phone_ is missing. We know she had one. It wasn't on the body, it wasn't in the case. Where is it?"

"She could have left it at home?"

"No." Demi shook her head. "Sherlock said she was a serial adulteress, she was careful too...she wouldn't have just left it lying around where her husband could find it."

John paused.

"Where did Demi just send that text?"

"Well where is her phone John?"

"She could have lost it?"

"Or..." He prompted.

Demi gasped and both men looked over to her.

"The murderer could have it! Oh my God did I just text a serial killer?"

John's phone began to ring and she jumped, knocking the contents of the pink case over in the process and letting loose a stunning array of four letter words.

"Few hours after his last victim and now he receives a text that could only be from her. Had a passer by found the phone they would think nothing of it but the murderer...would panic!" He leapt over the back of the chair entirely.

"Shouldn't we talk to the police?" Said John.

"There's no time to talk to the police." He replied, grabbing his coat.

"So why are you talking to us?" Said Demi, eyebrows furrowing.

"Your aunt took my skull..."

"So we're filling in for a skull? Seriously? I feel so cool." She said sarcastically, earning a chuckle from John.

"Oh relax, you're doing fine. Coming?"

Demi was already standing by the door by this point so this comment was directed at John.

"What? You want me to come with you?"

Demi grinned.

"Well you could stay and watch crap telly for a few hours or you could accompany a madman and his stand-in skull to...wherever we're going! What do you say?"

"And I think better when talking, a skull just attracts attention." Added Holmes.

"We're chasing a serial killer?"

"Well I did say it could be dangerous, and here you are! Come on Demitria!"

He disappeared and she chased after him, shouting about how if he called her that again he'd be investigating his own murder from beyond the grave. John eyed the doorway before grabbing his cane.

"Damn it!"

He followed them down the stairs, case long forgotten on the floor.

**Viola!**


	5. Chapter 5

They found themselves wandering down the high street, Demi's hands thrust deep into her pockets. Her gloves were still in storage alongside the rest of her clothing. She listened to the two men converse.

"So where are we going?"

"Northumberland Street."

"What? You think he's stupid enough to go there?"

"No I think he's brilliant enough. I love brilliant one's always so desperate to get caught."

"Why?"

"Because" She began. "They want attention. They want to flaunt their brilliance to the masses."

She received a nod from Sherlock (which, judging by his usual demeanour and attitude towards policemen was something of an honour).

"Think!" Sherlock all but shouted. "Who do we trust even though we don't know them, who hunts in the middle of a crowd and can go unnoticed in London?"

"I don't know. Who?" Said John.

"Haven't the faintest. Hungry anyone?" He turned and lead them to a small restaurant, opening the door and sitting at the table by the window, gesturing outside.

"22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eye on it."

"He's not just going to ring the doorbell, he'd have to be mad." Said John. Sherlock looked over at him.

"Well he has killed four people."

A young boy, possibly no older than twenty at the oldest, handed them each a menu, eyes lingering on Demi, who was looking out of the window. She muttered a quiet 'Cheers' and turned to smile at him, eyes glinting in the half light of the restaurant. He blushed and stammered a reply before walking away. A larger man with a pony tail walked over.

"Sherlock! Anything on the menu, anything you want free of charge. You and your friends." He smiled down at them.

"You two want to eat?"

They nodded and as they looked down at the menus.

"This man got me off a murder charge he did." Said the man while they perused the meals.

"This is Angelo." Said Sherlock. "A couple of years ago I managed to prove to Lestrade that at the time of a particularly vicious triple homicide, Angelo was in a completely different part of town house breaking."

The man shook Demi and John's hands as he spoke again.

"He cleared my name."

"I cleared it a bit. Nothing happening opposite?" He gestured across the street.

"Nothing. Orders?"

They ordered and the man smiled before bustling off, returning shortly with a small candle which he set in front of Demi with a wink. She smiled at him and Holmes smirked.

"You seem to attract male attention like honey attracts flies."

She frowned slightly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Angelo, the boy with the menus, Anderson..."

"Whoa, whoa _WHOA_! Anderson? Eurgh." She shivered. Holmes looked about to retaliate but John cut in.

"People don't have arch enemies. Not in real life."

"Really? How dull."

"So who did we meet?"

"What _do _people have then? In real life."

"Friends, people they like, people they don't like, girlfriends, boyfriends..." He ticked them off.

"Like I said, dull."

Demi thanked Angelo as he dropped their meals off and began to eat, watching as they discussed Sherlock's lack of girlfriend.

"Boyfriend then? Which is completely fine..."

"Oh I know it's fine." A small smile tugged at Sherlock's lips as Demi speared another piece of pasta. "But no."

"So you're unattached then...like me..."

"John I'm flattered but I consider myself married to my work..."

John backtracked instantly, blushing a furious beet red. Demi decided to save him.

"Me too." They looked over.

"Really? I though that, you know, clever girl like you..." Said John, obviously trying to create a compliment without sounding like he was trying to flirt with her. She shook her head.

"No, I have a grand total of one friend, three including you, and she's getting married. I'm not exactly little-miss-easy going what with the anger issues and the job..."

"Anger issues?" Asked Sherlock, eyes still focused across the street. She smiled grimly, her mouth a flat line.

"Yeah, since I was a kid. I all but ripped Donovan's head off earlier."

He raised his eyebrows but didn't comment. Until he started almost imperceptibly.

"Taxi, across the street. No one getting in, no one getting out. Why a taxi?"

They turned to look.

"Don't stare."

"You just told us to look!"

"Yes but we can't all stare."

She rolled her eyes. Men. Were. IMPOSSIBLE. Simple as that. Suddenly he was on his feet and leaving.

"Shall we?" She joked, helping John up and running after Sherlock as he ran in front of a car, sliding over the bonnet. Horns blared as she ran after him.

"You madman! Where the hell are you going?"

He murmured to himself about traffic lights and pedestrian crossings, running into a side alley, closely followed by his two companions. Demi grinned to herself as they raced up stairs and along a roof. This was madness, she was chasing a serial killer in a taxi with a veteran and a detective across the rooftops of Soho at high speed. Any moment now she could lose her footing and fall to her death. And she loved every single second of it. He leapt across a gap between two buildings and she looked down, eyesight wavering slightly as adrenaline gave way to fear.

"Come on! We're losing him!"

She took a deep breath and jumped across, feet skittering on the damp roof as she landed. Shortly followed by John. She followed Sherlock down the metal fire escape and out of an alleyway.

"This way!"

The careered after him, apologising occasionally for running into pedestrians. Demi nearly tripped over a poodle in her haste to keep up with Holmes. He ran and stopped the taxi with a cry of 'Police! Open up!'. Her and John stopped beside him, panting as the door opened and Holmes flashed a badge in his direction.

"No!" Said Sherlock. "California? LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived."

"How can you tell that?" Asked John.

"The luggage." He sighed. "First time in London am I right? Judging by your destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?"

The man in the taxi looked between them.

"Are you guys the police?"

"Yeah." Said Demi. The guy looked her over and raised an eyebrow. Oh. Right... "Non uniform sector." He nodded.

"Is everything all right?" Asked Holmes. The guy nodded mutely. "Oh, good. Welcome to London."

"Any problems just...let us know." Added John. The taxi drove off and the three stooges stood panting and out of breath by the roadside.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down." stated John.

"Basically." Agreed Holmes.

"Not the murderer then. Wrong country, good alibi." Demi stated before doubling over in fits of laughter.

"What?" Asked Holmes, Watson just stood there smiling.

"Nothing. Just...Welcome to London? Seriously? And that badge...Where did you get it?"

He held it up and she read the name.

"DI Lestrade?"

"Yeah, I pickpocket him when he's annoying. Here, call it a welcome gift, I've got plenty back at the flat."

She caught it and grinned, glancing again towards the taxi, from which two actual uniformed police were now heading in their direction.

"Got your breath back?" Asked Holmes. Demi nodded and John spoke.

"Ready when you are." And they scarpered.

**Review!**


	6. Chapter 6

They burst through the front door of 221B Baker Street panting and laughing at the same time.

"That was...the most ridiculous thing...I have ever done!" Stated John, leaning against the wall.

"And you invaded Afghanistan!" Joked Sherlock. All three of them erupted into breathless giggles and Demi smiled.

"Well as of yet it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever done but I think I'm about to top it!"

"Really?" Asked Sherlock, raising an eyebrow. "How?"

"I am SO taking the room upstairs!" She pointed to the ceiling in a grand super hero style gesture. John smiled as the door went.

"Who do you thin that is? Were you expecting anyone Sherlock?"

"Just a man helping me prove a point. Why don't you answer it?"

Demi fixed him with a look that on a normal human being would have them babbling their innermost secrets in a millisecond, however on Sherlock Holmes it just served to widen his smirk even more. John opened the door to reveal Angelo, holding his cane and looking past his shoulder to where Sherlock and Demitria were having some sort of staring competition. He wouldn't be surprised if they were conversing in some language yet unknown to mankind.

"Sherlock texted me, said you left this at the restaurant."

"Thanks, really...thank you."

"No problem, any time you three need a meal, just pop by!"

John nodded and Angelo left. They all looked at each other for a moment befor eMrs Hudson ran towards them, tears rolling down her cheeks shaking like a leaf in a gale.

"Oh Sherlock what have you done?"

"Mrs Hudson?"

"Upstairs, just burst in waving a warrant..."

The two men raced upstairs while Demi walked her aunt into her own flat and set her down in front of the TV.

"I thought that maybe you were hurt..." She shushed her aunt gently and smiled.

"I'm going to go upstairs and sort things out okay? Why don't you make yourself a cup of tea?"

Upon receiving a nod she turned and, face changing into one of anger, charged up the stairs, past Sherlock (who was in the midst of telling John to shut up about something) and straight towards Lestrade, who stood looking cocky in the middle of their living room. She stood until she was inches away from his face and poked him so hard in the chest that he doubled back into the chair behind him.

"You insensitive bastard!"

He just blinked, gaping like a fish out of water as Sherlock smirked smugly over her shoulder.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My aunt is downstairs in tears because of you and your little invasion. She thought I was hurt! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Drugs bust." Said Sherlock. She looked to him, back to Lestrade and then over to John who just nodded.

"A drugs bust? Really?"

"Well we knew he'd find the case. We're not stupid!"

She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'could have fooled me' and Sherlock spoke.

"I'm not your sniffer dog!"

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog."

Anderson appeared from around the corner and waved cheerfully.

"Anderson? What are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh I volunteered." He replied smugly.

"They all did." Said Lestrade. "Technically they're not on the drugs team but they're very _keen_."

Everyone's (least) favourite Sargent appeared brandishing a jar.

"Are these human eyes?"

"Put those back!" Shouted Sherlock. Demi just eyed the contents of the jar.

"They were in the microwave!"

"It's an experiment!"

Lestrade stood up, trying to look superior to the black haired girl who's normally bright blue eyes were now the colour of a storm cloud and who's mouth was pressed into a thin line to prevent the oncoming list of curse words that if shouted at the chief of police could probably get her arrested.

"Keep looking guys! Unless of course you want to start helping us properly..."

"This is childish."

"I'm dealing with a child! Look, we pulled enough strings letting you and two complete strangers into our case but you can not just go off n your own!"

"What? So you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"Stops being pretend if we find anything..."

"I don't even smoke any more." He rolled back his sleeve to reveal a single nicotine patch.

"Me neither." Lestrade did the same. "Looks like we're in this one together."

Demi spoke to John out of the corner of her mouth.

"Oh wow it was like a comparison of dark marks!"

"A comparison of what?" Asked Sherlock. She looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"A comparison of...oh dear, when this is over we are having a Potter film night!"

Lestrade just looked at her, apparently very confused by the sudden personality change.

"We found Rachel."

"Really? We need her in, interview her...who is she?"

"She was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter. Died 14 years ago."

"Her daughter's name...why?"

"Never mind that! We found the case. _Someone_ told us that it would be with the murderer and here it is in the hand's of our favourite psychopath!" Said Anderson. Demi sighed heavily.

"How many times? He's not a psychopath, he's..."

"A high functioning sociopath. Did you really tell them I wasn't a psychopath?" Said Holmes. She looked over.

"Eh whatever floats your boat..and yes I did."

"Why?"

"Because as of yet you're not."

"Oh, well...thanks I suppose."

"Any time."

There was an awkward silence before Sherlock spoke again.

"Anyway, Jennifer Wilson...why would she do that? Why?"

"Why think about her daughter in her last moments? Yeah, sociopath, seeing it now." Said Anderson.

"No, she didn't just think of her. She scratched her name into the floor with her _finger nails_. It would take effort, it would have hurt! Why?"

John looked up from the union jack pillow he had been studying.

"Well you said he made them take the pills...maybe he spoke to them, used the death of her daughter to make her do it."

"Yeah but that was ages ago! Why would she still be upset?"

There was a silence so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

"Not good?" He guessed.

"Bit not good, yeah." Replied John.

"My mum had a stillborn." Said Demi. "I was born shortly after – sympathy baby I suppose – one hell of a mistake I turned out to be – anyway she named it and buried it and everything. I was reminded every day until I finally left that it still hurt. Some people just don't cope I suppose. Maybe Jennifer Wilson was the same?"

She ignored the looks of sympathy and focused in on the pacing detective.

"If you were dying, if you were being murdered, in your last moments what would you say?"

He turned to John who seemed slightly taken aback at the sudden attention.

"Er...Please God let me live?"

"Use you imagination! Demitria?"

"Well you've heard my stunning array of curse words..."

He sighed.

"Come on! You're both clever!" (The attending police stopped short at that one) "Jennifer Wilson, running all those lovers – she was clever."

Mrs Hudson, still slightly shaky, walked up stairs.

"Isn't the doorbell working?Your taxi's here Sherlock."

"I didn't order a taxi! Go away!"

Demi slapped him non too gently on the back of the head.

"Oi! Manners!"

"Oh Demi dear...they're making such a mess..."

"SHUT UP!" Exploded Sherlock. "Everybody shut up! Don't move, don't breathe...Anderson face the other way, you're putting me off!"

"What? My face is?"

"Yeah actually it's putting me off to, Anderson point that thing somewhere else will you?" Said Demi jokingly.

"Demitria! No time for humour right now! Case now humour later!"

"Anderson, turn your back." Said Lestrade.

"Oh for God's sake..." Anderson faced the opposite wall.

"What about your taxi?"

"MRS HUDSON!"

Demi threw him a dark look as her aunt scurried off. Holmes suddenly got a look on his face that stated very clearly that he was having some sort of case-related epiphany.

"Oh! Yes, she was clever! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead! Don't you see? She didn't lose her phone! She planted it! When she got out of that car she knew she was going to her death. She left it to lead us to her killer!"

"How?"

"What do you mean how? Oh look at you all, is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. You all look so vacant! Well except you Demi, you just look bored. You try it, really think! Rachel is not a name! Rachel is..."

Demi walked over to the case and flipped the tag, viewing the information before realisation dawned on her face.

"Her password! She had a mephone account"

"Yes! You're not all as thick as you look!"

"Gee thanks."

"Me phone?" Asked Lestrade.

"She had no laptop so she did business on her phone. Internet enabled so it must have been a smart phone. We have her email now we have her password."

"So we can read her emails? Woop-de-doo." Said Anderson.

"Don't talk out loud Anderson, you lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than read her emails. It's a smart phone, it's got GPS so that if you lose it you can find it. She's leading us to her killer!"

"Unless he got rid of it?" Said Lestrade. Sherlock, John and Demi turned to face him, speaking at the same time.

"He didn't."

He took a step backwards as Mrs Hudson walked back upstairs.

"Sherlock this taxi driver..."

"Isn't it time for you evening soother Mrs Hudson? We'll need to move fast – phone batteries don't last forever..."

"Sherlock?" Demi spoke, eyes glued to the screen. He continued to talk.

"Sherlock?" She tried again, no luck.

"Oi Shirley boy!" He turned to face her, eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"It's here. How is that possible? We texted him and he called back!"

"Try again." Suggested John. Sherlock picked up his phone and read a text.

"Yeah...try again. I'm just popping out. Won't be long."

She rolled her eyes as he left...again. She glanced outside the window where he was talking to a cabbie. The man looked up and smiled at her, waving slightly. She shuddered. Her uncle had killed a man and she had seen a look similar to that gracing his features when she last saw him. Demi threw Sherlock a look that hopefully conveyed her bizarre trust that he knew what he was up to and that if he didn't he would suffer for it. She passed off the feeling as paranoia as Sherlock climbed into the taxi. Surely he of all people would know if the guy was a psycho. She glanced back to the screen, unaware of the conversation going on outside.

"You're the cabbie, the one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It wasn't your passenger, it was you." Stated Sherlock.  
"See? Even you don't think about the cabbie, just the back of a head. Perfect for a serial killer."

"I should probably tell you there are police upstairs."

The man looked up and waved, smiling. Sherlock looked up as well to see Demitria looking out of the window suspiciously. Of course she of all people would be suspicious, Sherlock thought to himself. Criminology degree, murderer for an uncle... It wouldn't take that long for her to catch on.

"She's a pretty one Mr Holmes. Maybe she'll be my next one. After you of course. You see I didn't kill those people Mr Holmes. I talked to them, then they killed themselves. Just like I'm going to talk to you, and you're going to do the same. And so is she."

"Leave. Her. Alone." His voice was oddly cold, clouding the night air. "She has nothing to do with this, she's just a friend of mine."

The man smiled.

"All right then. Come with me, play my game, and I give my word I won't touch a hair on her head."

He nodded and, with a parting glance towards the window, where she sent him a look that read loud and clear.

_Don't let me down. _

**Review!**


	7. Chapter 7

"He just got into a taxi." Demi stated absent mindedly as she waited for the search results.  
"Right, we're done here." Lestrade sighed.  
"Where do you think he's gone?" Asked John.  
"God knows."  
"Well you know him better than we do." Stated Demi, eyes still fixed on the screen.  
"I've known him for five years and no I don't."  
"Why do you put up with him then?" Questioned John.  
"Because as much as it pains me to say this, we need him. He's a great man that much is true. Maybe one day – if we're insanely lucky – we will see him become a good one."  
Donovan walked over.  
"He's going to let us down you know. Nutter..."  
"Get out!" Demi burst. Sargent Donovan looked over at her.  
"What did I do now?" She sighed. Demi looked at her, face devoid of all emotion.  
"I thought I made myself clear earlier Sargent. You're more than welcome to insult my friends etc, in your own home. However you try it again near me and I'm afraid I cannot guarantee your safety. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. And Lestrade?"  
He looked at her as if expecting her to kick him.

"I'm sorry for my outburst earlier but please do not drag my aunt into things like this. She gets anxious."  
"S'allright. Probably should have called first. Night."  
"Good night." Replied herself and John respectively. The police left hurriedly and Demi sighed, head landing heavily on the keyboard. John sat down on a chair, head in hands. The silnce seemed to stretch on forever. Until...  
_Ding!_  
They had a result. Not expecting much they looked at the screen.  
The dot had moved.  
As had Sherlock.  
And the cabbie.  
"Oh crap." Said Demi.  
"Time to go!" John replied, picking up the laptop as they ran out of the door. They hailed a taxi and John managed to breathe out the destination. When they got there there were two identical buildings.  
"I'll take right. You take left." Said Demi. John nodded and they set off. Demi raced throught he doors, looking out for footprints or _anything _that would lead her to Sherlock and the cabbie. Eventually she spotted something. It could have been an ordinary shoe scuff but she doubted the attendants of a community college wore the same leather shoes as Sherlock Holmes (he did have a rather interesting sense of style). She raced up the stairs as silently as she could. It wouldn't do to scream and yell when the man at the finishing destination could have a gun. The empty corridors all looked the same and she had to stop and breathe deeply to prevent herself hyperventilating. She couldn't just let him die because she was panicking. She righted herself and allowed her senses to widen, looking at every shoe mark, every place where material had snagged a wall. Going again on chance as her search ended almost fruitlessly she ran down a corridor to her left. Eventually she heard a voice. Struggling to hear it over the blood pounding in her ears she stopped.  
"Somehow this is about your children isn't it?"  
There it was, the cool relaxed voice of Sherlock Holmes.  
"When I die, they don't get much my kids..." She crept forwards as they talked.  
"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"  
"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?" The voice countered. Male, slightly older than Sherlock himself, London accent... Demi resisted the urge to reply 'Me!' to the question. However all playfulness left her mind as she heard the man.  
"Time to decide Mr Holmes."  
"I'll have the gun."  
She pushed herself to walk silently and quickly.  
"Are you sure? No one's ever gone for that option before..."  
"The gun please." He replied as calmly as if he was ordering lunch. She walked out to the shadows of the doorway. The man was pointing something at Sherlock, though from her angle she couldn't see it as his back was to her. However Sherlock could see her. He warned her back with what otherwise appeared to be a non-commital wave of his hand. The man pulled the trigger and she covered her mouth as a single tear rolled down her face. But the gun didn't fire and she all but collapsed with relief.  
"I can always tell a real gun when I see one."  
"The others couldn't."  
"Obviously." He smiled slightly. The man turned around unexpectedly, catching Demi off guard. She had been weak with relief and had let her guard down for a second...just a spit second that was all it took. Suddenly the man had his arm around her throat, one pill in a jar held in his free hand.  
"The rules have changed Mr Holmes. You each take one of the pills, one lives, the other dies. You can either save her...or save yourself. There's no gun option now."  
She mouthed 'I'm sorry' at Sherlock as he looked unsure for the first time. He wasn't suicidal but his selfishness could lose the girl before him, who he had begun to this of as his friend, her life.  
"You promised..."  
"Not a hair on her head. But Mr Holmes, it's not her hair that the poison would affect."  
"Let me go. Now!" Demi ordered, struggling. He moved back and locked the door behind him before releasing her. She stumbled forwards and Sherlock righted her, running her with a quick look to check for harm. She blushed slightly under the speculating gaze.  
"Which pill Mr Holmes? Or should the lady pick?"  
Sherlock picked up the other pill from the table and handed it to Demi. She looked up at him, eyes wide.  
"Which one is this?"  
"You should live. I may be a sociopath but I'm not a murderer."  
She shook her head, trying to force the pill back into his hands.  
"No."  
"Demi..."  
"London needs you, corny as it sounds. I will not watch you die."  
Suddenly a gunshot broke the silence and their mysterious captor fell to the ground. sherlock stood over him.  
"Your sponsor, what is his name?"  
He shook his head and Demi stood on his shoulder, Doc Martin pushing onto the bullet wound.  
"MORIARTY!"  
He died with a shuddering breath. Demi sagged and Sherlock caught her. Her facade collapsed and she sobbed openly into his shoulder. He just sat there, arms around her shoulders. Suddenly she stood and slapped him.  
"Never EVER do that to me again! I will not watch my friend get shot-"  
"Actually I was never shot-"  
"Almost shot then! Just for kicks!"  
She launched herself at him, hugging him while he stood motionless.  
"What are you doing?"  
"It's called a hug you moron. I hug my friends."  
"Fair enough."  
Twenty minutes later they were sat in an ambulance with matching pink blankets and disgruntled expressions.  
"Why are we wearing pink blankets again?" Asked Sherlock as Lestrade approached them.  
"Because they think you're in shock. That and some of the boys wanted to take pictures."  
Demi looked around while Sherlock rambled on about how the shooter had to have a good shot. she spotted John nearby and stood on Sherlock's foot, effectively silencing him.  
"What?" he hissed. She mumbled.  
"Stop while you're ahead. Look over there."  
He did and suddenly turned to Lestrade.  
"No, forget everything I just said. It's the shock talking, look I've got a blanket! Demi tell him!"  
"Oh he's definitely in shock. Absolutely. Even let me hug him. Can we go now?"  
He nodded them off and they walked over to John who stood, hands in his pockets.  
"Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything... the two pills..."  
"Good shot."  
"Yeah, It would have to be wouldn't it, through the window..."  
"Thank you John." Demi hugged him tightly. "Thank you so much!"  
He huffed slightly at the sudden contact but eventually gave her a one armed hug of his own.  
"Are you all right?" Asked Sherlock once Demi had succeeded in nearly squeezing the life out of him.  
"Yeah I'm fine."  
"Well you did just kill a man."  
"Yes, that's true...but he wasn't a very nice man." John stated.  
"That's true." Agreed Sherlock.  
"And frankly," Added Demi. "He was a bloody awful cabbie."  
"That's true, he was a bad cabbie. You should have seen the route he took us to get here." Smiled Sherlock. They laughed at that, relieved and frankly quite thankful to be alive.  
"Ssh!" Said John. "We can't giggle! It's a crime scene!"  
"Well you're the one who shot him!"  
"Keep your voice down!" Hissed John as they passed Sergeant Donovan he spoke louder. "Sorry, it's just nerves."  
"Dinner?" Asked Sherlock, as if they hadn't just spent the day hunting a serial killer. Demi looked up to where a man in a suit was getting out of his car.  
"Sherlock! That's him! That's the man who bloody kidnapped us!"  
He looked up.  
"Oh I know exactly who that is..."  
"So..." the man spoke as they neared, "Another case cracked then. How very public spirited."  
"What are you doing here?" Demanded Sherlock.  
"Always so aggressive. I'm concerned."  
"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern." He looked over to his two companions.  
"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe we should be on the same side?"  
"Oddly enough...no."  
"This petty feud between us is silly, people will get hurt. You know how it always upset mummy..."  
"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me who upset her Mycroft!"  
"Mummy?" Asked John. "Who's mummy?"  
"Their mother. They're brothers. Same hair, similar eyes. Their ears have the same pinna..." Demi trailed off as twin perceptive eyes stared at her.  
"Cut that out guys, it's creepy." She squirmed.  
"Mycroft Holmes." Sherlock's brother offered his hand. As she shook it he kissed her knuckle gently. Sherlock made an odd growling noise and glared at his brother.  
"So he's not like a criminal mastermind or something?" John asked, realising how childish he sounded instantly.  
"Close enough."  
Mycroft sighed.  
"I occupy a minor position in the British government."  
"He _is _the government. When he's not being the CIA, the FBI... Good evening Mycroft, try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does to the traffic."  
He gently walked Demi away, hand on the base of her back. John followed close by. Demi turned again.  
"So when you say you're concerned about him...you actually are concerned?"  
"Of course, he is my little brother after all. He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners."  
She laughed at that. He smiled at her. She smiled tentatively back and Sherlock pressed slightly harder on her back, walking her away.  
"Good night Miss Blake, Dr. Watson."  
"Good night."  
Mycroft watched them retreat again.  
"So..." Started Demi. "Dinner?" She was oddly sensitive to the gentle guidance of Sherlock's hand on the small of her back.  
"Yes, Chinese. I can always predict the fortune cookies."  
"No you can't." Laughed John.  
"Almost can. Were you actually shot John?"  
"Oh yeah, in the shoulder."  
"Shoulder, I thought so."  
"No you didn't" Insisted John.  
"Left one?"  
"Lucky guess."  
"I never guess."  
Demi laughed before she spoke.  
"Yes you do."  
They talked amiably while Mycroft watched from afar.  
"Those two could be the making of my brother. Or they could make him even worse than ever. Either way we had better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade 3, active."  
"I'm sorry sir?" Replied 'Anthea'. "Who's status?"  
"Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson and Demetria Blake."

Later, while they sat in a Chinese, Demi froze and looked at Sherlock wide eyed.  
"What?" He asked.  
"I just thought. Earlier, when we almost died...you called me Demi!"  
"Demetria you must have been hallucinating. Eat your pork."

**Viola! Fini! Review!**


End file.
